The Brothers Holmes
by Imogen74
Summary: Sherrinford Holmes returns, causes trouble, causes reflection, causes kissing. Rated M, because that's all I do. I read this as a prompt on Tumblr, but I cannot locate it - this is not my original idea. Sherlolly, eventually.
1. Chapter 1

Sherrinford Holmes looked out upon the vast Siberian landscape. He was a melancholy man, a withdrawn sort, but could take to long & delightful soliloquies when the moment presented itself. Tall, long nosed, grey eyes, with hair that was a rather dark brown, & curly when he was saturated with Russian snow, he was striking to behold, if one could look past his surly countenance. He was reflecting on his last conversation with Mum, & thought about Mycroft. Mycroft, who had made their parents banish him to a glorified insane asylum. Mycroft, who was merely jealous of his intellect. Mycroft, his own brother. And he had another, whom he barely knew. He wasn't bitter, no. He had spent many years reading, sharpening his already formidable intellect; he played chess, he convinced one of the inmates he was a duck. Humorous pastimes, but he longed to be in his homeland once more. He longed for his Mum. He wanted to prove to them that he was not insane, merely highly intelligent, beyond any normal thoughts or beliefs of intellect. He had gone to Dr. Bazarov, insisting that he was fine to go abroad, see his family, for the summer holidays. The doctor was unsure, but Holmes was convincing, & in the over twenty years he had been here, he had never once made such a request. Very well, was the verdict. Sherrinford Holmes would be off in a fortnight.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

When Mycroft had turned his mobile off after a long & rather painful conversation with his mother, he sighed. This would be uncomfortable. It would be arduous. Sherrinford, his elder brother of four years, would be in for a holiday. Mycroft had convinced everyone that he was dangerous, which he believed he was, but he may have...exaggerated his belief. Mum was torn. It was only after Sherlock was born & Mycroft had insisted that Sherrinford posed a threat to the young boy, that Mum had relented. Sherlock was Mum's favorite, always was. So, off went Sherrinford to the continent, passed off from place to place, finally settling in Siberia of all places. Did he feel guilty? Perhaps. Was he sorry? Not at all. Sherrinford was a hateful boy, & bore all the hallmarks of a dangerous person. Tying up the dog so he would starve. Dissecting insects. Blaming Mycroft for things he had done with quiet malice. Mycroft had saved his family, & he'd never be sorry for that. But he felt disquiet after his conversation with Mum, & he dreaded telling Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock loved his brother Mycroft. True, they had a bit of a strained relationship, much of it due to Sherlock's feelings of inadequacy around his brother. But still, he loved him. That's not to say that when he heard Mycroft entering his flat at Baker Street one lovely morning in May, he didn't chide him for his huffing up the stairs.

"You require a more rigorous workout, Mycroft. You shouldn't lose your breath ascending a flight of stairs."

"And you require a maid service, brother. Since John left, your flat is deplorable."

Sherlock looked about the flat. Yes, there were piles of paperwork, an occasional dirty glass, but it wasn't so bad. He decided not to press the concern.

"Why are you here? Seeking someone to run about town looking for someone your inept employees cannot find?" He began to prepare some tea. Mycroft sighed & took a seat.

"No, actually. I'm afraid...I have some news."

There was a manner in his delivery that gave Sherlock pause. "News" was a term he barely ever used, which could mean he was to learn something of a dire nature. Sherlock handed Mycroft the tea cup.

"News?"

"Yes," returned he, sighing his answer. How was he going to go about this? Sherlock knew that an older brother existed, but he had no idea how much their Mum had divulged. Sherrinford was considerably older than Sherlock, so when he was sent away, Sherlock was very young. Their Mum may have even suggested Sherrinford was dead.

"Yes...Sherlock...has Mum ever mentioned...?" No...best not bring up Mum. He cleared his throat & swallowed some tea.

Sherlock was rapt - he had never seen Mycroft in such a state.

He began again, "You recall, I'm sure, that we have an older brother." This was unexpected.

"Have an older brother?" Present tense.

"Just so."

"Well...I...that is..." He was unsure how to proceed; he had never given it much thought, & assumed said brother was dead.

"No. He's not dead, Sherlock. In fact, he will be visiting in three day's time."

"Three days?"

"That's right."

"Not dead..."

"You catch on quickly."

Sherlock was staring off. His mind was racing, trying to remember everything he had ever heard mentioned about this brother. He couldn't even recall his name immediately...

"Sherrinford, was it?" Sherlock finally looked at Mycroft.

"Yes. That's right."

"And where has the prodigal son been all these years?" He was a bit put off by this, & truly unsure how to handle it, he decided belittling it was safe.

"Well, a number of places, actually. Most recently in Siberia."

"Siberia."

"Yes."

"And does he enjoy being in the oppressive cold?"

"I wouldn't know."

Sherlock stood. "Why was he there, Mycroft?"

Mycroft then stood as well. "Sherrinford was...is...ill."

A look of mock questioning covered Sherlock's face. "Ill? And the remedial aspects of the icy tundra of Siberia were surely invigorating."

"Not ill in the standard use of the word, brother mine," Mycroft smirked. "He is...dangerously mentally ill."

"He's dangerous?"

"Yes."

"Even now? After decades of care?"

"Decades of care cannot obliterate a disease of the mind."

Sherlock strode to the window. "Then why is he returning? Why now?"

"I'm not sure. He claims to miss England, Mum. He wants to meet you, Sherlock. He hasn't seen you since you were...my goodness...four, perhaps?"

Sherlock gave his brother a critical look. "And what about you, Mycroft? Does he want to see you?"

Mycroft's eyes fell. "I don't imagine Sherrinford wants anything to do with me," he readied himself to leave. "I'll alert you when he's on his way to Mum's. Perhaps you should call her..."

And with that, he left.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

This was strange. Mycroft had done something to make Sherrinford dislike him. Although that in and of itself wasn't strange, he knew Mycroft to be intensely loyal & even protective of him. What on earth could've happened to cause such an extreme course of action? Sherlock was uneasy, & decided he didn't wish to go to his parent's house alone. John was busy with Mary & Alice. He couldn't take Lestrade. Perhaps Molly Hooper might be available to accompany him.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly Hooper was cleaning up the lab. She sighed heavily, & thought about her vacation days on the horizon next week. She loved May, & always chose this time of year to take her holiday. She thought she'd drive to Cornwall & take in the sea air. Perhaps do some shopping. Read a bit. It'd be lovely to have some time to herself, & after the Tom debacle, she was ready to start afresh.

It had only been a few months since she told Tom it wasn't working. A few months since she realized that she didn't actually love him. Her friends insisted that she was still carrying a torch for Sherlock Holmes, but Molly wasn't sure. She had thought long & hard about it, she wrote in her journal, she talked to her brother...but there was really no way to tell how she felt about him beyond the physical attraction/friend that he was to her. She believed in her heart that love was an active thing, that it cannot be one-sided. She thought that she was slightly preoccupied with the man, he was fascinating, & infinitely more kind since he came back. He was also, in Molly's opinion, gorgeous. But all of this didn't necessarily add up to love. No. He was her friend, that's all.

Still, Molly did like to fantasize that one day he'd burst through the lab door...coat swishing behind him...locks of curly black hair bouncing as he strode over to her, claimed her face, & kissed her passionately... But that was all in her mind.

She was thinking about that very thing, when the door closed shut behind her & a deep voice rang out in the lab.

"Hello, Molly," the voice said.

She was snapped put of her reverie, & she turned abruptly. "Oh! Sherlock. You gave me a start." Her heart pounded in her chest.

"Sorry," he smiled at her. He was suddenly unsure...lately, he had noticed, this was a theme recurring & was most unsettling. "Molly," he began (he detested innuendo, & always favored forthrightness), "It seems I need to take a trip to my parent's home, one I'd rather not take alone, & I thought you might accompany me." He detected nothing in her face to either dissuade him from continuing nor to encourage the movement; but, being who he was, pressed on. "It seems that...there might be some unpleasantness there, & since John is otherwise engaged, I thought that you might enjoy a long weekend."

"You have unpleasant family business? And you want me to go?"

"Yes..."

"Well, Sherlock. I am on holiday next week..." She meant it as a deterrent...a segue to begin her explanation of her flimsy plans.

"Wonderful! I'm hiring a car," he began to leave. "I'll pick you up tomorrow night at your flat...say...7?"

It sounded disturbingly like a date. "Ah...ok...?"

And he exited. Damn. She had no desire to see his parents. Well...perhaps not no desire. She was rather curious. But she wanted to go to Cornwall. See the sea. Feel the salt air. Read a book. Molly gathered up her things to go. It was a long weekend, he had said. Perhaps he could drive her to Cornwall following their visit as a means to repay her.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

She only worked half of a shift Friday, wanting to get home to pack. She gathered up the books she was reading, a few tops, skirts, sandals & trainers for walking, a couple of pairs of jeans, & her makeup bag. At precisely 7:01 there was a knock on her door.

"Ready?" asked Sherlock, clad in sweatpants, a tee shirt & trainers. Molly had never seen him look so casual.

"Yeah. Wow, you do look different, Sherlock."

"It's a couple of hours away, Molly. One needs to be comfortable," and he took her bag.

Her heart was a-flutter with excitement. She wasn't certain what was so invigorating: being on holiday. Sitting in such close proximity to Sherlock, talking about silly things. Or being on holiday sitting next to Sherlock talking about silly things. The latter seemed the likeliest. She smiled, & watched the scenery flash by.


	4. Chapter 4

The house, Molly perceived as she exited the car, was quaint. They had driven far off the beaten path to get here, & Molly began to think about little Sherlock & Mycroft, playing pirates in the garden. John had told her some time ago how Sherlock fancied pirates. Sherlock had grabbed their bags, & was leading Molly to the door. He walked right in, holding the door for Molly with his foot.

"Mum?" How strange it was to hear him speak in such an informal manner. "Must be in the garden," Sherlock muttered. "I'll put your bags away. Make yourself at home."

"She's gardening at nine o'clock in the evening?" He simply smiled. "Alright, thanks," & Molly turned to take in the room. She took off her sweater (it being too warm for her parka), & walked around the kitchen. It was a lovely place, like a cottage. She heard Sherlock mucking about upstairs, & she went into the sitting room. Lovely.

"Is it a habit of yours to walk about an unknown house peeking into various rooms? For however lovely a burglar is, it's still a burglar."

Molly swung around at the sound of the very formal sounding voice. There, sitting by the window, concealed in the shadow of evening, was a man. And not just any man. He looked very like Sherlock, but with lighter hair and a longer nose. His father must be very young. Molly collected herself.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. I'm Molly Hooper...Sherlock's friend." She extended her hand in welcome.

"I'm Sherrinford. Sherlock's oldest brother," & he took her hand to his lips. Molly's mouth hung agape as he released her hand.

"You're his...but...I thought Mycroft & he..."

"No. There are three of us. I've been...away..." His voice trailed. "So. You are Sherlock's girlfriend? He has wonderful taste."

"Er...no... Thank you, but we are just friends," she blushed her response.

"Just friends...?" Sherrinford had a gleam in his eye, & Molly was suddenly very uncomfortable. She took a step back.

"Yes. Have you been away? You have a slight accent."

His face dropped a touch. "For many years now. I don't think that Sherlock would even remember me." "Oh..." & she sat down, gesturing for him to do the same.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Sherlock found his parents sipping wine in the garden.

"Sherlock!" Violet Holmes exclaimed, & she jumped up to embrace her youngest son.

"Hello Mum," he said, returning her affection.

"How are you?"

"I'm well. Siger, say hello to Sherlock," and he man in the chair stood.

"Did you see that Sherrinford is here?"

"I haven't seen him, no," replied Sherlock. "Is he...better?"

"Difficult to say," Siger observed. "He does seem more calm, but then, he's only been here a day."

"Was he often manic? What is his diagnosis?"

"Schizophrenia. And no...I wouldn't say he was often manic...simply...well, easily upset."

Violet sighed. "He's older now. He sees what he is capable of, & behaves accordingly."

Sherlock squeezed his mother's hand. "I'm glad," he turned. "You should meet Molly."

"You brought a guest? A woman?" Violet was taken aback.

"Yes of course. I left her in the house."

Violet & Siger looked at one another as Sherlock led them inside. He couldn't stay angry at his parents. They were too...normal for that. Besides, he expected that Mycroft had more to do with all of this than anyone.

He went to the sitting room to find Molly raptly listening to an older man that bore a striking resemblance to himself. Yes. He definitely looked more like Sherrinford than Mycroft. But Sherrinford had Mycroft's hair (not hairline, thankfully), and perhaps more his nose. He was shocked at the ease in which Molly was speaking with his estranged brother.

He cleared his throat. "Well, it appears that Molly has already met Sherrinford."

"Hi, Sherlock. I was just..." Molly was smiling.

"Sherlock," said Sherrinford. "Well. All grown up, then."

"Yep. Obviously," he sounded hostile, but couldn't really account for it.

He held his brother's gaze for a second, then turned to Molly. "Molly, these are my parents, Violet & Siger."

Molly embraced the friendly looking couple. "Pleasure to meet you."

Sherlock smiled on as he watched his parents with Molly. He noted that this was the first time he had ever brought a woman to meet his parents. He looked over at Sherrinford, but his brother was watching the same scene. Sherlock's face pouted for a second as he reacted to his brother watching Molly. He had a steady gaze fixed on his face. Sherlock looked at Molly, who was oblivious to the attention being paid to her. Sherlock suddenly wished that Mycroft were there.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning saw spring kissing the fresh blooms in the garden, & Molly simply had to be part of the scene. She went outside with her coffee, & breathed in deeply, the air sweet with growth & warmth. She had had a lovely hour the night previous. Sherlock's parents were simply adorable, & very attentive. Sherrinford, although a bit forward, was lovely, too. He had been most responsive to her questioning, explaining how, when he was young, he never quite understood social custom, how to speak with people, & how he became quite a burden to his parents.

Molly was surprised that Sherlock didn't pay more attention to his newfound brother. He nearly ignored him. But then, Molly always suspected Sherlock to be on the autism spectrum, so it made sense that he would not take kindly to a new brother at his age. He wouldn't know how to behave, so he would shut down.

It was also curious that he never mentioned that that was the design of her being there, to quell the effect a new sibling might have on him. She suspected she was there to break his fall (again) at the shock of it. Violet had suggested that Sherlock believed his eldest brother to be dead, & Sherlock had said nothing to refute it.

"Good morning, Molly," Sherrinford Holmes's voice chimed out from the garden chair. "Hello," she said, & joined him.

:::::::::::::::::::::::

Sherlock was awake & in the kitchen when his Mum came downstairs.

"Morning, Sherlock. Sleep well?"

"Hmm," replied he. Sipping coffee, he was half reading the Times, half watching Molly & his brother in the garden.

"Mycroft is coming tomorrow to visit."

His eyes shot up. "Mycroft?" For the first time in ages, Sherlock was relieved to hear it.

"Yes. I told him Sherrinford would love to see him. He's so very different, dear. I'm certain that he wants to see him."

Sherlock wondered for a moment if that were truly the case, or if Sherrinford merely wanted to have the opportunity to call Mycroft out on his exile. "Well. It'll be pleasant to see him. How long will he stay?" Sherlock meant it.

"Just the night. He has work...always does," & a sad sort of look graced her face.

"Indeed," Molly & he were to leave Tuesday, but perhaps they would go when Mycroft left. She had indicated a desire to see Cornwall...

"Have you eaten yet?"

"I seldom eat this early, Mum."

"Nonsense! No wonder you're so thin. I'll make your favorite," and she set to work.

Sherlock decided it was time to see what Sherrinford & Molly were doing. They had been in conversation a good while.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Molly was laughing when Sherlock joined them...he noted, however, that while the laugh was genuine, it sounded a bit more exaggerated than if she were comfortable.

"Morning, Molly. Sherrinford."

"Good morning, brother. Sleep well?"

"You sound like Mum." Sherrinford didn't respond. Sherlock continued, "How is everyone?" He asked, sitting down.

"Wonderful! This garden is heaven," Molly gushed.

"Yes, Mum did love to keep a garden. But...I suppose she recruited Dad a bit," Sherlock replied reflectively.

"Was it nice, Sherlock, having Mycroft to play with as a child?" Sherrinford asked.

"As nice as you'd expect it to be. He's rather a bit older. Six years is a considerable span as a child."

"Yes, it is. He & I are more close in age. But I never found him to be terribly accommodating."

"No?"

"Not at all. He was always...so...bossy."

"That's because he's nearly always right."

"Indeed?"

"Mycroft Holmes is one the most intelligent people I've ever known. Myself included."

"Your perception is clouded by affection," Sherrinford's voice hinted at anger.

"My perception is never clouded, Sherrinford. That is one thing you can count on. You haven't had much experience with me, but I can tell you, if there is one person I know...it's Mycroft."

Molly was listening intently. She had never heard Sherlock speak of his brother with warmth, or indeed, defending him. She didn't know Mycroft, only had had a few phone calls from him when Sherlock was away, but he seemed very proper. Very smart. Different, from the two men she sat with now.

Sherrinford smiled. "Is that so? That explains much."

"Such as?"

Sherrinford stood. "Explains your unfounded hostility toward me. Explains why while you should be hostile, it's for an entirely different reason. Explains why the one person you should know better than anyone remains a generic "friend," when she should be much, much more," and he winked at Molly, taking his leave.


	6. Chapter 6

"Sorry about that," Sherlock smiled weakly.

"It's nothing," Molly was confused. If she didn't know better, she'd have said that Sherrinford was suggesting that Sherlock pursue her romantically. Ridiculous notion. "So...your parents are lovely."

"They're parents. As far as parents go, they're alright," he straightened in his chair. "Mycroft will be coming up tomorrow."

"Oh? That'll be...nice?" Molly thought that it might cause further strain on the house, but seeing how quickly Sherlock took to defending him, thought it best not to say anything to that effect.

"Yes...you don't really know him, do you?"

"No. No...I've spoken with him on the phone a few times...but that hardly counts."

"He's...well. He's infuriating. But he is my brother. And I suppose he has his good points."

Molly smiled. "Is he like Sherrinford?"

Sherlock looked directly at her, "Not at all. Mycroft is his own sort. Unlike me. Mum. Dad. He's utterly unique."

Molly looked away. "I'd say...I'd say you're rather unique yourself," & she stood & went into the house, leaving Sherlock to ponder what had just transpired.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Mycroft Holmes approached the front door. He breathed in deeply, & walked inside.

"Myc!" Shouted his mother.

"Hello, Mum," he didn't bother correcting her, it was tiresome, & he had other things on his mind. "Where's Sherlock?"

"Sherlock? Don't you mean Sherrinford?"

"No. I mean Sherlock."

"Well...I think he's..."

"Don't care enough, Mycroft, to inquire about your older brother?"

Mycroft's eyes closed temporarily. He collected himself. "Hello, Sherrinford," he said, turning around to greet him. My, he did bear a striking resemblance to Sherlock. He had forgotten, or perhaps, didn't realize. "You're looking well."

"Kind of you to say. Wish I could reciprocate that sentiment," & Sherrinford entered the kitchen fully. He poured himself some tea.

"Sherri, do be kind to Mycroft. He came all this way...& his work is pressing," Violet was upset.

"Not to worry, Mum. Where is Sherlock?"

"You are concerned, aren't you?" Violet looked crookedly at her middle child. "He's in the sitting room, tending to the fire. He was just speaking with Sherri, here."

"Thank you," and he turned away.

"Sherri...I know things aren't perfect between you & Myc...but honestly..."

"Do not speak to me of Mycroft. We will have our time before the leaves tomorrow. Until then, mother, I suggest you leave it alone," Sherrinford left & retreated to his room.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

He saw Sherlock sitting on the sofa, reading some volume. He sighed his relief. Why he should be concerned, even still, escaped him. As he entered more fully, he noticed another person sitting opposite him, next to the fire. Was it...yes. Molly Hooper. Odd...but then...

"Hello, Sherlock. You didn't tell me you were bringing a guest," & he walked over to Molly. "It's Miss Hooper, is it?"

"Yes. Hello Mycroft," she said, standing. They shook hands.

"I don't feel the need to make you privy to every one of my actions, Mycroft. Molly was on holiday this week. I asked her to accompany me."

"Is that so..." Mycroft was smiling at Molly. "Accept my apologies, Miss Hooper. My brother does have a way of making unfair demands upon people he cares for."

"Cares for..." Sherlock was muttering.

"Please...call me Molly. And truly, I don't mind. It's rather the least of the favors he's asked of me," Sherlock's eyes shot up at her. "We are going to Cornwall in a few days to make up for it. Isn't that right, Sherlock?" Molly turned toward him.

"Eh...yes. Yes...that's right," he answered. Why did she do this to him? He's never been one to stammer. It's as though...as though they'd switched places...that she was Sherlock, calm, aloof...and he Molly...nervous & stammering.

This didn't escape Mycroft's notice. "That's kind of you, brother. I'm certain you'll love Cornwall, Molly. It's lovely."

"You've been then?"

"Ages ago. But I imagine that once you've seen the sea, it never fully leaves you, & that's that."

"Spoken like someone who regrets only having seen it once," observed Sherlock.

"My brother, Molly, fancies that he knows the inner goings on of my heart..."

"I would...if you had one."

"And now he projects his own failings upon me," Mycroft's eyes never left Molly's face, which was growing increasingly red & amused by the minute.

"You two are funny," Molly sat down once more by the fire.

Sherlock then stood. "We are nothing of the sort," & he walked over to Mycroft. "Tell me, brother. Why does Sherrinford hate you?"

"That's," said a voice, "Something I'd be curious to hear his take on." Sherrinford Holmes had entered the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock looked quickly at Sherrinford. He had heard a person approaching, but mistook it for his dad - they had a similar footfall. He then directed his gaze back to Mycroft, who remained stoic & unreadable. Mycroft began to turn toward Sherrinford with a smug look to mask his worry.

"Well, Sherrinford. Feel better since your respite?"

"Which are you referring to?"

Mycroft smiled. "Whichever yielded the most success."

Sherrinford entered the room, having heard his parents leave for the garden. "Why. Why did you do it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Not a chance."

"Unfortunately, I do not speak in code, though if you'd prefer, I can speak with you in French, Russian, German, Spanish, or any number of languages that would suit. But do get to the point."

Sherrinford's face contorted & grew dark. "Why did you have me sent away?" His voice was a hiss.

Sherlock took a step nearer Mycroft, & glanced at Molly. Her face appeared etched in worry, & she stood frozen.

Mycroft sighed, "You proved to be dangerous."

"Dangerous! To whom, exactly?"

"To the family."

"I'd never hurt mum."

Mycroft's eyes fell. "I didn't necessarily mean mum."

"No? Whom did you mean? You?" And he laughed.

Mycroft looked up again, took in a deep breath, "Sherlock."

"What?" Sherlock asked. He thought he was being addressed. "No Sherlock...I was answering Sherrinford," said Mycroft.

"Excuse me? He was a threat to me?"

Mycroft turned toward his little brother a touch. "Yes. He was. Though I don't know that he realized it at the time," Mycroft then moved a bit toward Sherrinford, who was visibly shaken. "Sherrinford, you did things without knowledge. You...said that the baby was dangerous to mum. You would speak to yourself in the garden, muttering things...you plotted ways to harm him. I couldn't let you. Not to mum, & not to Sherlock. It took a couple of years, but I finally persuaded mum & dad to have you seen. The doctors admitted you, diagnosed you with schizophrenia, & that was that."

Sherrinford gulped. "You mean...you were protecting Sherlock? From me?"

"It's a full time occupation."

Sherrinford moved toward the group. "And are you better, Sherlock, for Mycroft's protection? Do you know what it means to actually live?" He was looking at Sherlock wildly. "You came here with this woman, & you treat her with cold indifference? What did you save him for, Mycroft, if he's not going to appreciate the gifts he's been given?"

Molly then spoke up, "Sherlock uses his amazing gifts for plenty, Sherrinford. Simply because you might not approve of the way in which he uses them, doesn't mean that he doesn't."

Sherlock looked at Molly, bewildered. He wanted to say something, but Sherrinford beat him to it.

"Well, Sherlock. You've got yourself quite a fan club. Tell me, Mycroft, when was the last time you had sexual relations?" Mycroft simply stared at Sherrinford. "Hmm. Yes...& you, Sherlock? No? I thought not. You've taught him, Mycroft, to abhor intimacy. You've taught him to be a machine, like yourself. Say what you will about us, but the schizophrenic knows how to live life..." & he grabbed Molly & kissed her fiercely. Before Sherlock or Mycroft had a chance to react, Molly had struggled free, & slapped Sherrinford. Hard.

"Don't. Touch. Me," Molly breathed.

Sherlock was by her side in a flash. Ascertaining that she was ok, he turned toward the recovering Sherrinford & punched him...the man practically flew across the room. "Are you alright?" Sherlock was in front of Molly, looking her over. She nodded.

Mycroft went over to his older brother, & helped him to stand. "Come, Sherrinford...let's get you some air." That left Sherlock & Molly alone. He sat her by the fire, & pulled a chair next to her.

"I am sorry," Sherlock was looking at his hands clasped together. He was attempting to settle them, stop them from shaking.

"It's alright."

"No...it isn't. I'm always mucking things up..."

Molly smiled. "Not really," and then, "Mycroft really loves you, doesn't he?"

"Yes. Yes, I suppose he does."

"And John?" Sherlock now looked at Molly crookedly.

"Yeeesss..."

"Hmm. Yes. You do have a fan club."

"Not exactly. Everyone has people whom they care for, whom they deem requires their specific protection, attention, or whatever."

"Have you?"

"Yes."

Molly smiled. "Should I guess?"

"No. You should already know, Molly, that I'd do nearly anything to ensure your safety." He looked away, got up, & went to sit & read once more. "Even downplay your importance in my life," he ended softly.

Molly turned toward the fire, short breaths coming from her lips. She couldn't respond.


	8. Chapter 8

Dinner was a quiet affair, for Sherrinford had seemingly took up permanent residence in his bedroom. Violet was noticeably altered, & was a bit withdrawn & sullen. After dinner was through, Sherlock went out into the garden to have a cigarette, & Mycroft followed.

"I suppose I owe you my life once more, Mycroft," Sherlock said without looking.

"Nonsense. There is no debt."

"Well, you got rid of a dangerous person for me more than once by my calculation."

Mycroft smiled & inhaled the cigarette deeply. "Sherlock, I am sorry I wasn't more forthright about Sherrinford. I was never certain how to broach the subject..."

"Not to worry, Mycroft. I understand. In fact, I'd say you underestimate just how empathetic I can be."

"Speaking of which, about Molly Hooper...well...perhaps I should speak in more general terms," Mycroft amended his segue. "Speaking of relationships..." Sherlock became uncomfortable. He didn't wish to discuss such things with his brother. Mycroft noted his brother's altered state, but continued undeterred, "I hope that, me being who I am, that I haven't...dissuaded you from pursuing that which would make you happy."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean to say, that if a romantic relationship would make you happy, Sherlock, you should have it, regardless of how I live my life." Mycroft smiled at his brother.

"You are giving me permission to date?"

"Well...permission is not a term I would use..."

Sherlock finished the cigarette & glared at his brother. "You overestimate your influence. I don't need your permission, Mycroft. While it's true that you were never the epitome of an example of romantic expression, I certainly am not utterly hopeless when it comes to such things. If I have an inclination to date, I'll do just that."

"Wonderful! Then you should ask Molly out."

Sherlock coughed on his wine. "Really, Mycroft. What are you talking about?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh please, Sherlock. Don't be so tiresome. Sherrinford may have been wrong about a good many things, but even I saw plain as day that you care for the woman. And she clearly reciprocates...so..."

"She what?"

"Sorry?"

"She reciprocates! Mycroft. You are amusing. She was just engaged!"

"And is she still?"

Sherlock's eyes wandered away from his brother's face. "Well..no..."

"No."

He downed his wine. "She's moved on, Mycroft. She's deemed it unhealthy to be preoccupied with me. And honestly, I agree."

"Has she said this?" Sherlock didn't answer.

"No. She hasn't. Sherlock, have you ever considered that WE are in the wrong? That sentiment isn't the defect - that it is the lack thereof?"

Sherlock looked at Mycroft crookedly. "Are you serious?"

"I'm not certain. But it is worth reflecting on, is it not?"

"No. No, it isn't," Sherlock finished his drink. "Look, Mycroft, while I certainly appreciate all of your heartfelt reflections, I have observed that the silliness that accompanies those unfortunate to succumb to the failings of the heart are almost never better for it."

Mycroft sighed. "Perhaps Sherrinford was right. Perhaps my own mode of existence has clouded yours to a fault," Mycroft finished his brandy, & decided to head in. "Regardless, that Molly loves you still. It's a breathing thing, just underneath the surface, waiting to be awoken..."

Sherlock sighed & rolled his eyes. "Goodnight Mycroft."

As he went back into the house, Mycroft muttered, "And if you knew what was good for you, you'd awaken it."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Molly couldn't sleep. She was thinking about Sherrinford. She felt badly for him, despite his physical attack, he was a sad man. What a very odd family indeed! Mr. & Mrs. Holmes seemed normal enough, but their children! Schizophrenic, sociopath, &...well...whatever Mycroft was. (Truth be known, she wasn't convinced of Sherlock's self-proclaimed diagnosis, but that was another matter). Molly laughed, & looked at the time. It was after one. She decided to go downstairs for some water & a book. There was a rather excellent library here.

Upon entering the sitting room, she immediately took note that someone was present, & she gasped, afraid it was Sherrinford.

"Hello, Molly," Sherlock said from his station. "Can't sleep?"

Molly started, but was relieved. "Hmm, no. No. Much on my mind, I guess."

"Indeed."

"Can't you sleep, either?" And she went to sit next to him in the chair opposite.

"No...but that is not extraordinary in my case. I sleep but little."

"You don't sleep. Hardly eat. It's a wonder you're able to stand up straight."

Sherlock's smile could be seen in the moonlight from the window. The hour was late, & he was feeling bold. "Molly..."

"Yes?"

He paused for a fleeting moment. "I...hope that Sherrinford didn't make you uncomfortable earlier. I am sorry about that scene..."

"S'okay. Don't think about it."

"No..." He cleared his throat, "What happened with Tom? You never offered any explanation."

Molly was slightly taken aback. "Oh...well...I...we decided that things weren't going to work out after all. He wasn't...all I thought that he was," she finished, looking away.

"And what did you think he was?"

Molly gulped. "Well..." She slightly resented being asked all this...but the hour...the wine at dinner...the moonlight..."a better imitation than he turned out to be."

"Of?"

"Seriously?"

Sherlock wasn't sure if he really, honestly wanted to hear all this or not, but something was pressing him on..."Always."

Blast. She looked away, not able to bear him seeing the blush, "Well, of you, Sherlock. Of you..."

He swallowed hard. Damn. "Molly...I thought you were...I thought you had...moved on..."

Her eyes darted toward his. Even in the middle of the night, in the black dark of the room with only a slight sliver of moonlight & the embers burning in the fireplace, she could see his blue stare burning into her.

"Oh, of course I did. Moved on. Of course," she said sarcastically. "Couldn't you tell by the way in which my fiancée looked exactly like you?"

He looked away. "Well...when you put it that way..."

"What way, Sherlock? The obvious way?"

He sniggered a bit. "So...does that mean...you're still...that you love me still?"

"Who said anything about love?"

"Well..."

Molly sighed. "I'm not in love with you, Sherlock. I care about you...I'm attracted to you. But that depth of feeling needs to be shared, & since you cannot reciprocate, that's all it'll ever be. That's not to say that I'll ever be over you. It's a cruel joke, really. I'll likely spend the rest of my life searching for your equal, & since that person doesn't exist, I'll be alone, because you're the only person I've ever wanted to be with like this...so much so that I became engaged to your doppelgänger," and she laughed softly. "But, I've come to terms with it, & I'm not sorry. Friends is something, isn't it? It's quite a lot, actually. And at least I'll never need to worry about jealousy, since I believe that you're likely asexual." Wow. Moly couldn't believe the diatribe she just delivered in front of Sherlock.

"Asexual?"

"Well...I dunno. Are you sexually aroused, ever?"

Sherlock laughed, "Of course I am."

Holy shit. "To women? Because it'd be fine if you are attracted to men. More than fine, actually."

He sighed, "Yes, Molly. To women."

She thought a second. "Are you...a virgin?"

The smile widened on his face. "Nope."

Well, that covered all of the bases. Only one thing remained. "So...then...you're not attracted to...me," & her face fell.

His hand grasped her chin & raised her face to his. He slowly leaned in towards her, her breath catching in her throat. His mouth claimed her lips, & slowly at first, but increasingly deepening, he kissed her. His hand fell to her shoulder, & Molly grasped at the back of his neck. He pulled away before things got too heated, for his breath was short & his chest heaving. Molly was flushed & equally winded.

"Good god," Molly whispered.

He smiled. "I hope that dispels any reservation you might have concerning my attraction to you."

"Yeah, it does."

"Excellent," & he got up from the chair. "Still fancy a trip to Cornwall?"

"What?" She turned.

"We're leaving tomorrow afternoon, right after Mycroft."

Molly stood. "But...we were to stay until Tuesday, I thought."

"Change of plans. Goodnight, Molly."

Molly couldn't move. She was very nearly convinced that she had imagined all of this. She hadn't heard Sherrinford in the kitchen, having heard all of the goings on. She retired with a book.


	9. Chapter 9

Sleep evaded Molly for the remainder of the night. She lay awake, attempting to sort out what had occurred, trying to make sense of it all. It was not easy, & what she concluded was that the circumstances were ripe for Sherlock to behave erratically. He didn't want to kiss her...he simply wished to prove her wrong. There was a difference, & Molly wasn't going to allow herself to get muddled in the quagmire of Sherlock's mind.

Sherlock, was equally distressed. He laid awake pondering his action, for though he couldn't deny his attraction to Molly, he may have been impulsive & where Molly was concerned, that was a bit not good. He had no desire to hurt her further, & if he continued to behave this way, he surely would. Damn Mycroft & his silly speeches. Sherlock had changed, there was no denying it - when one falls as he did, getting back up elicits transformation. The mere fact that he was sensitive to the possibility of hurting Molly was proof enough that he wasn't the same. But to engage in anything remotely romantic or sexual, well, that was crossing a line. By kissing her, he hoped that he was affirming her obvious importance in his life, as well as eliminating some of her doubt concerning her attractiveness. She was attractive. She was lovely. (It cannot be denied that when she asserted that she wasn't in love with him his ego fell a touch, but that's another matter) No. He must remain steadfast in his work. In his resolve to never welcome such trifling affection. Mycroft's speeches notwithstanding.

* * *

"Morning, Sherlock. Sleep well?" Mycroft entered the kitchen & poured out some coffee for himself.

"Not at all. You?"

"Like a babe."

"Wonderful. Have a seat, Mycroft." And he did just that.

"About your advice last evening..."

Mycroft was only barely listening. "Yes? Which bit?"

Sherlock looked about. "The bit about...about Molly."

Mycroft smiled crookedly at his brother. "On your mind then, is it?"

"Well, yes. I rather wonder...what was the purpose? Why would you offer such unsolicited advice?"

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Why? I should think it obvious..." Nothing. He sighed. "Because Sherlock, I took what Sherrinford said to heart, & I don't want you to live your life in a manner that doesn't best constitute your happiness, especially if I can do something about it. "

"Oh."

"Yes."

Sherlock sat back in the chair. Would being...romantically involved with Molly make him happy? "That's...thoughtful, brother."

"Good morning, Molly," Mycroft announced, & Sherlock's back stiffened a bit. "I'll be heading out in an hour or so...have you seen Sherrinford?"

Molly shook her head. "Not since...well. Yesterday," and she grabbed a coffee.

"No...well...I should begin to pack things...see to my farewells," and he went upstairs, leaving Sherlock & Molly alone.

Sherlock swallowed. "So...Molly. Cornwall today! What are your thoughts?"

"Yes...well...maybe we ought to head back...surely Greg has something pressing for you to see to."

His mouth hung open. "I hope you're joking. Head back! Ridiculous notion. Besides, Lestrade has my number, if anything that urgent should arise. Contrary to most people's opinion, I only get a text from NSY once, maybe twice, a week."

Damn. Molly wasn't certain she wanted to go after last night's events...but...perhaps...they were (mostly) adults, after all. "Alright. I really just want to stay in a bed & breakfast, read a book I buy at a local shop & walk along the beach at sunrise & sunset. That's all I had planned...even if it were just one night."

"Well...since we've been here three nights, I suggest the same length of stay in Cornwall. How does that suit you?"

Molly gulped. "Fine."

"Good," and he smiled.

"Sherlock..."

"Hmm?" He had taken the paper up.

"About last night," she couldn't spend three nights with him at a B&B on the sea without clarifying things, at least a bit.

His eyes rose. "Yeees?" It was almost sing-song-y, the way he replied. In an effort to downplay the significance, he sounded ridiculous, & very un-Sherlock.

Molly looked at him with a smirk. "Yes. Well...I'd just like to ... Um...well, to clarify. What exactly did you mean by it?"

Sherlock swallowed & looked away. "I meant to demonstrate that you are in fact attractive that you occupy a very important place in my life & that I appreciate you as a person & as a woman," he took a deep breath after the considerable ramble. "Simply because I am not the most proficient at expressing such thoughts & inclinations & because I wish no harm to come to you I often downplay or avoid my inclinations toward you & since it is doubtful that I could ever fully reciprocate I usually simply ignore it but the wine the moon the events of the day all collided into one moment & I apologize if I made you uncomfortable."

"Wow."

He looked at her. "What?"

"How...how did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Say all of those words without breathing? Without commas?"

He smiled at her. "It's a gift."

"Yes...well...thank you, I think I understand," and she rose.

"Do you?"

"Yes. You don't want to hurt me, so you keep me at arms length because you don't understand the nature of your feelings, nor are you sure you even have them, or what to do with them if you did. So. Friends it is."

Molly left to go upstairs & change.

What a brilliant woman.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherrinford Holmes was smoking steadily in the garden. He had had a very trying visit, & was being sent home early. This cannot be considered his home any longer. He was unwanted, & he knew it. He wished that he had the resolve to tell Mycroft that he forgave him, that he understood that he loved Sherlock very much, & that that fact drove him to act. He wished that he could apologize to Sherlock, tell him that he wished him well...that he hoped that his passion that was so obvious would be put to good use, & not lay unchecked in his heart. Sherrinford was not a bad man, he was merely schizophrenic, & that sad state had left him with a stigma that no one could ever erase. He was impulsive, he hallucinated, & he knew that the best place for him was back at the hospital.

Mycroft came out to say his goodbyes to his brother. "Afternoon, Sherrinford," he said, nicking a cigarette.

"Mycroft."

"Lovely day."

"It is, yes."

Mycroft sat down & lit the cigarette. "Are you happy to be returning to Russia?"

"In a manner of speaking...though I'd prefer better weather & closer proximity to mum..."

Mycroft smiled a bit. "Yes. I imagine it is a bit much," he paused. "What would you say to Switzerland?"

"Excuse me?"

"I understand that Switzerland is lovely...& mum would love to visit. So would dad. Even Sherlock might be obliged once in a while..."

Sherrinford stared at his brother. "And you, Mycroft? Would you visit?"

He smiled. "My work is pressing, brother. But...I suppose...every so often."

"You've arranged it, then?"

"Consider it done. Your plane takes off in five hours. Mum & dad are taking you," he said, looking intently at Sherrinford. "I hope you get some reprieve, & that it eases the harshness of your situation."

"Thank you. I mean it."

"I know you do," and he took his leave. Sherrinford smiled to himself.

* * *

"Mycroft! Your car!" Violet was yelling for her son. Her husband was no where to be found, Sherrinford was packing up, & Sherlock & Molly were waiting to say goodbye. They were packed as well.

Down the stairs came Mycroft Holmes. "Thank you, mum. I'll be calling you later..." And he gave her a swift hug.

He turned toward Sherlock. "Well, brother. I imagine I'll be seeing you later in the week."

"You will?"

"Yes...it's rather our course of action..."

"Thank you, Mycroft. I..." Sherlock's voice had dropped slightly. "I...love you."

Mycroft's face fell a bit. "Sherlock. That's..."

"Lovely!" said Molly. "Hug one another, will you?!"

And they did. Sherlock was a bit hesitant to release Mycroft, but the elder Holmes pulled away, & without another look at Sherlock, he turned toward Molly.

"You, my dear, are lovely & a godsend," & he kissed her cheek.

With that, Mycroft Holmes was gone.

* * *

Sherlock went upstairs to say goodbye to his eldest brother before he & Molly drove to Cornwall. He found him packing very slowly, as if to savor it all.

"Well, Sherrinford. Molly & I are about to leave."

"Yes."

"Yes...so...goodbye, then." He turned to leave.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned back again.

"I am sorry...& I'm sorry I didn't know you growing up. And I'm sorry that you don't see yourself as worthy of being loved, because you have a great capacity for it...you are passionate, & that shouldn't go to waste," he finished.

Sherlock didn't quite know how to respond. "I...well. Mycroft will send me the particulars concerning your new...residence. I'd like to visit on occasion."

"Of course." And that was that.

* * *

Molly's goodbyes were unceremonious. She hopped in the rental next to Sherlock, & they set off. She was excited, she was nervous. He had indicated to her that he had made reservations just before they left, & it was to be about a three hour drive. Sherlock's conversation was teeming with excitement, he wasn't certain just why he was so happy, but he was, & he reveled in it. Molly listened, but was preoccupied, trying to reason out little things like...dinners...& walks on the beach...& wine. She felt as though much of these things could be considered date-ish, & she was concerned it might be misconstrued, that she didn't want to make this trip into something it wasn't. She had been in earnest when she dissected Sherlock's ramble. Friends. Good friends. Good friends who were attracted to one another. Good friends who shared quite a history. Good friends who shared a kiss just last night...a lovely kiss...a kiss that, if Molly were honest, changed things more than she cared to admit.


	11. Chapter 11

Part 2: Cornwall

They arrived much later than anticipated, it was after 11pm. The place was lovely, just as she had remembered it as a young girl. She had promised herself when she was about 12, (it was their last visit before dad died) that she would be back. She hadn't bargained for such an expanse of time to have passed, but there it was. Molly breathed deeply. It was lovely.

Sherlock took their bags inside & went to the desk to check in. Molly busied herself by wandering into the sitting room, touching fabrics, looking at the view from the windows.

Sherlock was taking some time, so she decided to head back & see if there was a problem. He was irritatedly speaking with a lady at the desk.

"The ineptitude of this establishment is embarrassing. You should be embarrassed. I very specifically requested two rooms, not one room with two beds!" The lady went in the back to make some calls.

Uh-oh. "Problem?" Molly approached the desk.

"I cannot understand it. It's like something out of a very bad comedy...they've mucked up our reservations."

Molly smiled. "One room, two beds?"

"Just so."

The lady returned. She looked at Molly. "Well...sir. I am sorry, but it's a busy week here & everyone is full-up. Would you like the room?"

"We'll take it, thanks," said Molly. "It'll be fine, Sherlock. We are adults, you know."

Sherlock sighed & nodded. The lady gave him the key & they went upstairs. In they went, & Molly sighed. It looked like something out of a novel. The furniture was exquisite. The fabrics, lush. Molly's face lit up as she scanned the room, & she turned toward Sherlock. "It's...simply, lovely."

"It's rather nice," he said. He began to look about for an opportunity to exact some privacy. There was the powder room, complete with shower. He could hang something between the beds if Molly was uncomfortable.

"Should I drape a comforter in between the beds?"

Molly was getting out her toiletries & such. "You mean, like in "It Happened One Night?""

"Sorry?"

"Clarke Gable? Older film. Wonderful, really."

Sherlock simply stared at her.

"No, guess not," and Molly smiled. "It's alright, Sherlock. I think it's fine. There is the powder room there to change in & such."

"I was suggesting it for your benefit, Molly. If you're comfortable, then so am I," he began to fiddle with his bag. "I don't sleep much, anyway."

Molly shrugged. "Well, I like sleep...so...I'm going to change into some pajamas."

Sherlock honestly thought that the only thing to make this more ridiculous would be for him to see Molly naked. Luckily, she had closed the door with some force. His clothes were put away, and he took out his laptop. He had thought that he would answer some emails. He also recalled that he had left his violin in the car. Well, perhaps tomorrow he would take it out & flex those muscles. After everything at his parents' house, he needed some reflective time.

Molly emerged looking quite lovely in a white nightgown. "I don't usually wear things like this, but I saw it in my drawer at home...I thought when would I ever wear this, really?" She was saying this more for her benefit than his. "So...I packed it," and she laughed.

"What's funny?"

"Oh! Many things. I'm wearing a white nightgown. I'm explaining wearing it to you. I'm here, in Cornwall, with Sherlock Holmes. Sharing a room..." And she shook her head.

"Well, it's lovely," and he returned to the screen.

Molly was suddenly struck with the thought of going over to him, wrapping her arms around him, & kissing him. The memory of that kiss that they had shared remained fresh in her mind's eye. How could it not? It was intoxicating. "Oh. Well. Thanks, Sherlock. I'll...turn in, then."

"Hmmm," replied Sherlock.

* * *

It was a few hours later. Sherlock had cleared out his inbox, solved at least a dozen of the cases sent. He had changed into his own pajamas. He went over to the empty be & looked over at Molly. She was breathing deeply. He smiled. He thought about the night previous & how bold he had been to kiss her. What had caused him to act? He recalled the reasons he had given Molly that morning, but they weren't the entire truth. What was? Loving Molly Hooper? It was too much. He climbed into bed. He sighed deeply. How could he love her? How was that possible?

He'd think about it in the morning.


	12. Chapter 12

Molly heard rustling in the room. She opened her eyes. The room was bathed in warm light, and a breeze could be felt from an open window. She sat up, looked about. Cornwall. Yes...she was here, & she was with...

"Morning Molly," Sherlock handed her a cup.

She smiled. "Morning, Sherlock. My god it's lovely..." She scanned the room. Like a dream, or a fairy tale...

"It's coffee," Sherlock said, slightly confused.

Molly looked up at him after taking a sip. "I know, I meant the room. How much did this set me back?" She had thought she'd simply repay him, since he had insisted on using his card.

"We can discuss it later," & he went over to the laptop once more. He leaned back. "So...there are some gardens here, if it strikes you...art nonsense...a museum or two...castles...a few beaches...shopping...markets..."

Molly was getting up. "Sorry?"

"For our outings."

"Our?"

Sherlock looked at her with a quizzical stare. "Yes, Molly. Our excursions. Do you think I'd want to spend the entire holiday cooped up in a room?"

"Well...I...I assumed...I didn't think you'd like a holiday. Thought you'd find it boring," she really believed she'd be going out alone, perhaps meeting Sherlock for some meals. Or, coffee, since he hardly ate.

"Yes. Yes, I could see why you would think that," he turned fully toward her. "If you'd rather be alone, by all means. I forced you to my parents, this is your leg of the trip. We can do, or not do, what you like," & he smiled.

Molly was a bit confused, & not knowing what to say, began gathering her clothes for the day. "Ok. Alright...lemme get a bath. Maybe we can...uh..." She thought about it. "Maybe we can go to one of those gardens, & then I can grab a book. Then we'll just see." She waited for his response.

"That's fine," and he went back to the screen once more.

Molly went into the shower, thinking about what she was about to do. Everything suddenly seemed so muddled. Everything was so unreal. She attempted to sort out how she ended up here as she washed her hair. He was so much nicer now. So attentive. He brought her to his parents. He punched his brother for kissing her. HE kissed her. And now...now they were sharing a room at a B&B in Cornwall. Fuck. It was like...they were...a couple. Stop it Molly. Stop thinking this way. He had said exactly how he felt, & it didn't include a romantic relationship.

She emerged freshly washed, with a pair of jeans on & a lovely pale pink top. Not so much like her other stuff, more flattering, but boring, she believed.

"I think that this garden here is near the shops, that way we can see the foliage (luckily it'll be too early for many insects), stop by the shops for a book...by then it'll be lunch...we can grab a bite & then..." He turned & stopped. He had finally looked up & saw Molly. She looked...different. He swallowed.

"Yes? And then?"

"Ah...w-we can...ah..." he cleared his throat & looked away. Whatever scent she was wearing filled the room. It was intoxicating, & his observation of her figure when not lost in her other clothes was rather unfortunate. "We can head back here. I think by then I'd need to check my emails." He held onto the corner of the desk to steady himself.

"Sounds lovely. Can we walk to the garden?"

"Yes...it's not far," & without another glance he put on his coat.

"Sherlock, do you think you need that?"

"What?" He asked, turning towards her.

"Well...it's May. Maybe a sweater or something..."

"I know, that's why I'm not wearing the scarf," he smiled & held the door for her.

* * *

The garden, as they approached was lovely. Sherlock had prattled on about Cornwall's history as they walked. It was fascinating, for apparently he had learned all of this in the twenty minutes or so that Molly had gotten ready. How on earth did he do it?

Molly began to take out her wallet from her bag, but Sherlock had already produced the pounds at the entrance. What a prat, she smiled. She wondered vaguely if he would let her pay for the room. His generosity was perplexing. In they went, & he began to talk about he various plants & flowers in display. He really did know something about everything. Luckily, Molly enjoyed listening to him...for it wasn't solely his extensive knowledge, but his voice as well.

Sherlock hung back a bit to examine something, so Molly went on...lost in thought & contemplation. She sighed, & breathed in the sweet air. She ran her hand along a stone wall separating some of the different displays. Her mind wandered...

She & Sherlock had been married for a few years, & she was heavy with child. They were in Cornwall, taking a holiday, reminiscing about their first awkward trip here many years previous. She was standing on a balcony with her hand resting on her belly...looking out onto the sea...the salt air brushing her face...when a pair of hands began rubbing her shoulders, & a pair of lips kissed her neck. She sighed.

"You're not fatigued, are you? We can get some coffee, if you like," Sherlock approached her from behind.

"What? No...I'm fine. Why?"

"You were sighing & had stopped walking."

She blushed. "No. No, just thinking."

He looked at her crookedly. "We should go...let's get you that book," he seemed anxious to get going.

The practically ran from the garden.

"Sherlock! What's going on?!"

He began laughing. "I nicked these," he showed her a couple of plants stashed in his pocket.

"You didn't!"

"What? 20 pounds to see some silly plants! I can use them..Much more practical occupation for these things," he looked offended.

She laughed. "Well...hopefully they'll grow back."

They walked along until they reached the shops. Molly spotted the book shop.

"Shall I just go in? Or would you like to come, too?"

"No...I'll go in."

The shop was lovely; dusty, must-scented. It was dimly lit, & the floors creaked with their footfalls from age. Molly began perusing the shelves; her fingers brushed along the spines. She was thinking fiction...not anything terribly scientific. She thought something historical, too...

"Molly?"

"What? Yes?"

"I found something. I'll head over to that cafe across the way & wait for you."

"Alright," & she smiled at him.

* * *

Sherlock found a table outside & sat down. He began to page through the volume on astrophysics. Not something he'd usually bother with, but it seemed like the only thing that would do with only a short amount of time to shop for something. He needed to think, & to get away from Molly to do it. He had never enjoyed himself more than he had the past few days with her. True, it wasn't as exciting as the high he got from his work, it was more relaxing, more comfortable. More...familiar, in an odd sort of way. He couldn't account for it. Is this what he desired, then? Comfort? He recalled contemplating these things several times on this trip, & had yet to come to any sort of decision. Perhaps he should phone John. He might be able to offer some advice.

He looked up, & saw Molly walking towards him, hair blowing back from her face, light stepped, smiling widely.


	13. Chapter 13

Pick. Up. The. Phone. John.

He was pacing. He knew that Alice had John & Mary very busy, but Christ, pick up the phone. Didn't he see this was an emergency?!

"Hello?" came a ragged voice.

"John!"

"Sherlock?"

"Yes of course. Why weren't you answering, this is my third call in ten minutes, & I only have a very short while before she comes back from the beach..."

"What the hell are you talking about?" John was tired. Taking care of a baby was difficult, & he needed to grab sleep when he could.

"Molly!"

"Yeah. Sorry. No idea."

Sherlock sighed loudly & looked out of the window. "I'm talking about Molly. She's at the beach, taking or walk or something. We are in Cornwall...on...holiday," his voice dropped an octave at the word "holiday."

"Excuse me? I thought you were at your parent's," he was getting up from the sofa.

"We were...but, well...had to leave. It's complex..." Sherlock fiddled with his hair, running his hands through in agitation.

"You brought Molly to your parent's house, & now you're on holiday with her in Cornwall?" he was in the kitchen now with Mary, & she poured him out some tea.

"Yes! Sherrinford needed to leave, so we came here. Molly had wanted to go during her time off from Bart's, so I brought her."

John was looking at Mary & mouthing: "You aren't gonna believe this." He returned to the phone, "Right. Why did Sherrinford leave, then?"

"He wanted to. Things weren't...what he had hoped for here. Mycroft saw to it...at any rate, the reason for my call..."

"Sherlock. What are you doing with Molly Hooper?"

"If you'd allow me to explain...I'll tell you."

"Ok. Tell me. But make it quick."

Sherlock moaned in agitation. Wasn't he attempting to do just that? "Well..." Where to begin... "It has come to my attention that...I find Molly attractive. And so...and this was after I had made these arrangements..."

"Hang the bloody hell on. You find Molly attractive?" Mary silently clapped her hands together, smiling.

"Well, yes. But that's not the point, John."

"Oh no. No...it is precisely the point. You are on holiday with Molly Hooper & you find her attractive. Sherlock! This is huge!"

"You're making much if this," Sherlock didn't see what the problem was. "She's my friend who I happen to find attractive."

If Sherlock could see his friend, he'd have seen him with his mouth hanging agape, staring at Mary, & then his mouth slowly curling into a slight smile. "Ok."

"What. What is it?"

"Why are you calling?"

"Because..." And he suddenly realized he was calling because it was a big deal. Because he needed to determine a course of action. Because he didn't know what he was doing. "I don't know. I needed to...talk to someone about all of this. I'm unsure. I don't like being unsure."

"She's a friend you find attractive."

"Yeees..."

"In the real world we call that a girlfriend, mate." He heard a loud noise. "Sherlock?" There was a pause.

"Hello. John? Sorry...I dropped the phone."

"Right. Does Molly know this? I mean...did you tell her?"

"Well, yes...I kissed her...& then I told her...John?"

A loud sound came from John's end. "Sorry...right. You kissed her. Great." He looked at Mary, who was now in a state of shock. "Alright, Sherlock. I'm not sure what it is you want me to tell you..."

"What do I do?"

"About?"

He was at his wits end. "About..." He gesticulated wildly, "All of it!"

John sighed. "Do you want to be in a romantic relationship with Molly or do you want to ignore the past few days & pretend like none of it happened?"

This was it. It was simple, really. "I don't know."

"You don't know. Sherlock, I'm sorry, but this you've got to figure out for yourself."

"No! John! Wait..."

"What?"

He sighed, "I'm...afraid of this..." His voice was barely a whisper. He seldom opened up like this, which John was plainly aware of, so the significance was certainly not lost on him.

"I know, Sherlock. But only you have the answer. I guess the best piece of advice I can offer is, do you think your life will be better if Molly was your...partner?"

Sherlock's breath was shaking. "Ok. Thank you." And he hung up without a proper send off.

"Bye, Sherlock," John said to the dead line. "Good luck."

* * *

Sherlock couldn't stay in the room & wait for Molly, he needed to take a walk. He thought if he were to pursue something like this, it'd be with Molly. It'd be away from London. It'd be now. He needed to make up his mind. He thought about what it would mean to not have her in his life. He thought about what it would mean to be intimate with her. His mind turned it over & over, & he realized that he needed just a touch more data to make a truly informed decision. He would plan out the day for them tomorrow, culminating in a lovely dinner out. He would research the local restaurants, he would plan one outing for her, one that would suit him. And then...he would see.

* * *

Molly had walked the beach. She walked the street neighboring the beach. She grabbed a drink & walked some more. She took off her shoes & dipped her feet in the water, walking along the edge.

She thought about her dad... Molly loved her dad. He had taken her & her brother & sister here many times. Mum wasn't keen on the beach. They would usually spend the night, watching telly, & head home the next day. Molly's dad was a jovial man, but terribly rational. He was sarcastic. He was very intelligent. He was not shy, but never the center of attention. He reminded Molly of Sherlock, & herself, actually. She wished that Sherlock had some of her dad's levity. She wished Sherlock didn't make things so complicated, like, saying he found her attractive. Like kissing her. Like being bloody brilliant on this holiday by being sweet & considerate, & lovely & beautiful in that effing blue shirt. Damn.

Molly shook her head & retrieved her volume. Jane Eyre. Bloody Jane Eyre. She adored it, but this had to be the fifth time she'd read it & her third copy. Rochester, unattainable to sweet Jane. Rochester, misunderstood, dark, brooding, mysterious. Jane, poor, obscure, plain & little, by her own definition. But bright & strong, willful. Molly. Molly was Jane. Sherlock was Rochester.

Stop it Molly! She scolded herself. She sighed heavily. She sat on the sand.

She opened her book.


	14. Chapter 14

When Molly had finally returned to the room, it was dark. She hadn't counted on being so long, but her thoughts & her book had gotten the better of her. She inhaled deeply as she entered the room.

Sherlock was at his laptop, seemingly lost in whatever he was doing.

"Hi Sherlock...so...any interesting emails?" Molly took her shoes off & sat at the other end of the table.

"Not really," he replied, & finally looked up at her. "You've been gone quite some time. Have you eaten?"

"Yah. A bit. Not really hungry," & she smiled.

"No," & he returned to the screen, his brow furrowed.

"You ok?"

"Of course," & then, "I was thinking about tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes...I'd like to see this park here. Interesting rock formations along the coast line," he ran his finger along the screen. "I thought you might enjoy this art museum. Rare things...something or other...what do you think?" And he slammed the MacBook Pro shut.

Molly gulped. "I think...I think...I'll go to the pub next door," & she put her sandals back on.

He stood. "Do you object to these ideas?" He was a bit put off & confused.

"No, Sherlock. They're fine. More than fine. I'll see you in a bit," & she left.

Sherlock Holmes was left standing there, completely at a loss. He ran his fingers through his hair & peered out the window. Violin...

* * *

Molly had had a considerable amount to drink. She was very far gone, & had flirted with nearly every person in the pub - men, old & young, women, old & young...the bar keep...

She needed to leave that room, because she had become painfully aware that despite all of her thoughts on love, she was afraid she was falling in love with Sherlock. She believed that perhaps she did love him, even if he didn't reciprocate, her depth of feeling that great. He was everything, everything she had ever wanted, & he was treating her like...she couldn't say. Something wonderful & dear. Molly had loved once before at uni, but this, this was an incredible emotion. Her heart was bursting, & she was fearful that had she stayed with him before, she would've either slapped him for never being able to love her back, or snogged him mad.

Neither would do.

She was full gone, quite a mess. She observed the time. One am. Best head back...she had a design to see the sunrise in the morning.

As she approached the door she heard violin music. God, she must really be drunk.

No...Sherlock plays, perhaps...and she went in to find him playing the instrument, standing by the window, in his dressing gown & pyjamas. She inhaled her breath deeply, & nearly fainted.

He stopped, & turned.

She smiled, & stumbled in.

"You're drunk."

"I am, yeah."

"Water," & he went to fetch some.

Molly sat on her bed, & he returned with a glass from the powder room.

"You were gone a good long while..."

"I guess, yeah."

"Is everything ok?"

Molly looked at him, tears welling in her eyes. "Everything's fine Sherlock."

"It doesn't appear to be."

"Well...aside from the fact that I just flirted with an 80 year old woman..."

"You what?" He was smiling.

"Don't ask." Molly began to rub her temples. "I miss my dad," she said finally.

Sherlock sat next to her on the bed. "You were very close..."

She nodded, & the tears began to fall. Her face turned toward her hands, & she played with the comforter on her bed. "I miss him. He always made so much sense. He was like...like...a clear pool of water. Bright, fresh. He always gave me the best advice."

Sherlock looked away. "You require advice?"

She nodded. "Oh god..."

He turned toward her. "What?"

"I'm going to be sick..." And she dashed to the loo.

She returned, looking a bit better. "Sorry," she said, smiling weakly.

He got up from the bed.

Molly then began crying in earnest.

Sherlock went to her, feeling helpless. "Molly! What's wrong? Have I done something?"

She shook her head, then wound her arms around his waist.

He was rigid at first. She sobbed into his chest. Slowly, his arms wrapped around her. They stood like that for a moment, until he led her to his bed. They laid down together...never really letting go. His dear friend Molly fell asleep after her sobs subsided somewhat, & Sherlock followed suit, the warmth of her body enveloping him & lulling him to sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

Sherlock Holmes was washing his face. He was going to go downstairs, fetch some coffee, have a cigarette, & return to wake up Molly. He had had a dream the night previous, & Sherlock never recalled his dreams. (Mostly due to the fact that his sleep was fragmented & erratic).

He dreamt of Mycroft. They were in a cafe, talking about mum. Mum was sad, she had been to see Sherrinford & it hadn't gone well. Mycroft was concerned, but reassured Sherlock that mum would be fine - she had them & dad. But then Sherrinford came in, sat next to Mycroft, & began yelling at him for ruining Sherlock's life. Everything was Mycroft's fault. Sherlock objected...it wasn't. Mycroft was a good brother. And then Molly Hooper entered the cafe. She was dressed all in white. She came over to the table, slowly, deliberately, seductively. He recalled feeling aroused, & believing she was approaching him, stood up. Instead, Molly grabbed Sherrinford, pulled him to stand, & began kissing him passionately. And then Sherrinford was Mycroft, kissing Molly. And then John...& Sherlock stood there in the cafe, utterly helpless...until Jim Moriarty showed up & took Molly away.

Sherlock didn't like this dream, & he had an inkling what it meant. He would lose Molly if he didn't act. And he needed to make his mind up if he was going to act, & today would be the day. He was losing control, & he needed it back. This problem was beginning to overtake him.

How he had wanted to stop Molly from going to the pub! How he wished he had the fortitude to make her stay! How, indeed, he longed to be able to comfort her when she returned, instead of simply sitting there, paralysed by his own emotions. He was impeding his own movement. He had hoped that his holding her had alleviated her turmoil; turmoil that he had caused, he was certain.

He was, he realised, an utter mess. And this...this is what he was offering Molly. But then...it appeared to be what she wanted.

The cigarette was wonderful, & he reminded himself that only under extreme cases should he smoke. He climbed the stairs with a coffee for them both, reached the room, & opened the door.

* * *

Molly's head, thankfully, wasn't hurting too badly. She had awoken to find Sherlock gone, but she wasn't surprised. God, what had she done? Slept in his arms all night? Gotten so drunk that she flirted with men almost three times her age? (And women, too! Good lord) She began to panic. She had mucked this up terribly.

She should go. Just go. Go home, relax, get over Sherlock. She had been doing well - she had a good outlook, but he had upended her entire worldview, & now she was terribly confused. She needed to stop this, & staying here with him would never accomplish that.

She was packing up, pissed off she had missed the sunrise, hoping she could leave before he returned. Then she heard the door open. Blast.

"Sherlock...I was just..."

"What are you doing?" He asked, closing the door behind him.

"I...I'm...look. I should go. I really should. This situation isn't really ideal. It's best if I go home."

"Molly, look at me."

She turned finally, having spoken much of her speech to her bag.

Sherlock walked over to the laptop & opened it. "Come here."

She walked over to him.

"Look," he was pointing at the screen.

Molly did as she was told. On it were poems. She peered at it more closely - he had been doing searches on love poetry. She looked at him questioningly.

"So...about our outing..." He began.

"Sherlock..."

"The sun has risen, but that beach should be very nice this time of day," he closed the laptop. "Why don't you have some coffee. I'd like to gather a sample from those rocks. And then the museum? Does that suit you?"

"But..."

He exhaled. "Molly...give me today. Just today. If you want to leave after dinner to avoid sleeping in the same room, I'll drive us back," he finished. "Ok?" When he received no reply.

She swallowed. "Yes."


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock's mind was wandering a bit as they walked toward the beach where he had indicated there were rocks of interest. He had suspected something was amiss when he first beheld them on the laptop, & he needed an occupation for his churning mind other than Molly Hooper. It wasn't easy, but finally he had accomplished it, & he was beginning to feel a bit better.

They descended the slope to the beach, & as they approached the furthermost corner, he let out a laugh, & began to retrieve his mobile. His fingers pushed along the wet rock, one of them moving slightly.

"Yes, that's right. No! I'm here now. Come immediately," he spoke into his phone, & he turned toward Molly, smiling.

"Well, unfortunately for Mr. & Mrs. Pratt, they will be discovering that their son is a murderer, but then, it will give some solace for that poor girl's family."

Molly stood dumbfounded. "What are you talking about?"

"I read about an unsolved abduction that took place here two months ago. Strange circumstances surrounded the case, & I deduced from a Mr. Oliver Pratt's description that he had taken a young Amanda Price here, & murdered her."

"What? How? How did you do that?"

"I observed that a few of these rocks," & he pointed to them, "were out of alignment with the rest. Coming down here to have a closer look, the moisture isn't adhering on the one side as it should meaning that they were recently disturbed. The authorities…ah. Here they are now…"

And Molly watched him talking in an irritated manner for the next hour to the detective inspector. She heard him chide him for being impossible, for not knowing how on earth he maintained a steady position in the department, & that he, Sherlock Holmes, would never take up residence in Cornwall with such a shoddy police force. The DI assured him he wasn't wanted, but thanked him for his insight. Sherlock refused to go to headquarters, stating that he couldn't possibly do the whole of their work, that they were being paid for something, & that the girl's parents ought to be contacted & dealt with with some delicacy, & please don't tell him that said DI would be charged with that task, for he was as about as delicate as a cactus. Molly felt exhausted watching him work. She stayed along the periphery, not wanting to interrupt, but admiring the authority with which he spoke, albeit a bit rudely. Finally, Sherlock approached Molly, grinning widely.

"Well, Molly, shall we go?"

"Wow."

"What?"

"That was…incredible."

"It was?"

"Of course it was. I mean…you're so…confident…& just wow," she couldn't help feeling a bit awestruck.

"I'm only that confident in some areas…others…I'm rather hopeless," he wasn't looking at her. "So…museum…" & he took out his mobile. "It's not far from here. Are you hungry? We can get something along the way…"

"No…spending time with you has all but robbed me of my appetite. Let's go to that museum." They began to leave the area.

"I hope that that does not continue to be the case, Molly. I made dinner reservations…"

She stopped. "You did what?"

"Well, sooner or later you should eat. Come to think of it…so should I…"

She smiled. "Where? Do I need a dress or something?"

Sherlock smiled to himself a moment & thought, if he was going to have any say in the goings on of the evening, a dress would be very ancillary to his plans…but no. Best not be too playful just yet…what's more, he required a bit more data, just a bit…& Molly might reject him.

* * *

They arrived at the museum & entered. Molly was struck by its simple elegance, & began to wander about rather aimlessly. Old carved wood pieces adorned the main gallery, some random paintings from the Victorian age were on display.

Molly was completely taken in, & rather lost her way through the gallery. It was The Lady of Shallot where Molly stopped...& she recalled Tennyson's poem.

She began reciting it: 'There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.'

It was the only bit she had memorised, but she knew it well. She smiled sweetly to herself & turned away from the painting. When she looked up, she saw Sherlock standing not far from her, looking reflective. He smiled at her & walked over.

"You know this?"

"I've seen it, yes."

"And the poem..."

"Tennyson. The Lady of Shalott."

"Ah. I believe I've heard it..."

"Probably. It's rather famous," & she turned to leave the gallery.

They walked in a leisurely manner for a bit, when Molly said, "Where are we going for dinner?"

"Boat shed something or other."

"Is it formal?"

He smiled. "No...but if you have a nicer dress..."

"Ok. What time are the reservations?"

"Six thirty."

Molly looked at the time. One pm. Plenty of time! At three she would go shopping sans Sherlock. She hadn't packed a dress, so she would send him back while she shopped.

"Let's grab a coffee & then I'll go to the shops for a dress..."

"Ok," Sherlock returned, & he smiled at the thought of Molly getting ready for what amounted to their first official date.

* * *

Sherlock looked at himself in the glass. He looked quite debonair, if he didn't say so himself. His hair had undergone sufficient ruffling, his shirt was sufficiently purple, eyes gleaming pale blue, trousers black, jacket black. Yes. Sometimes he believed himself to be moderately attractive, for his height did much to strike an imposing figure, even if he did fancy himself better suited for life a hundred years ago, at least as far as his looks went. Molly didn't seem to mind much. She obviously found him attractive, and that was what mattered. He didn't give a toss for his looks and how others received them, but now, Molly's opinion counted, and he wanted to ensure that tonight of all nights, she would be aroused by his appearance. He decided to leave her a note to meet him at the pub next door. He would get some wine or something to quell his nerves. Smoke a cigarette. Relax.

Molly hurried back to the room to find Sherlock gone and a note indicating he was waiting for her at the pub and to please not rush. Ok. Don't rush. Right. She was so nervous that her hands were shaking. Calm down, Molly. She went to the shower & took a hot bath. She began to dress, & looking at herself in the glass, realized that the dress was likely all wrong. It had looked so nice on her in the shop. It was a silver & black cocktail dress, not terribly revealing. The shop owner said that Emma Watson had worn a very similar outfit to the Academy Awards. Molly had no idea, she liked the way it looked on her, so she got it in a rush. And now she was experiencing doubts. Maybe of she did her hair up… Yes. That was better. A bit of gloss, & she slipped on her shoes.

Bloody hell, what was she doing? She stopped for a moment & considered. Her life would change after tonight, either way. Was she ready for it? Yes…she needed it to. This trip had proved to her that not only was she wrong about being over Sherlock Holmes, she was in love with him. She walked down the stairs & out into the warm Cornwall evening. The sun hung low in the sky, it was nearly 6:30. No time for a drink at the pub.

She opened the door to the pub, the sunlight illuminating her from behind…she scanned the room, & saw Sherlock at the bar, sitting at the far end, sans Belstaff, waiting for her.


	17. Chapter 17

His fingers were drumming on the bar when he felt the need to look up toward the entrance. And there was Molly. He paid his cheque, & approached her. He recalled the last time she had gotten dressed up for him, & cringed slightly.

"You don't like the dress?" Molly didn't really sound disappointed, more like she had expected as much.

"I adore the dress," & he bent down to kiss her cheek softly. "We should go."

"Ok," she breathed, walking out the door by his side.

"Hungry?" asked Sherlock, glancing over the menu.

"Starving," replied Molly, looking down.

"We should get some wine I think…"

"If you like."

Sherlock looked crookedly at her. "You're nervous."

Molly's eyes shot up. "No I'm not. Why do you think I'm nervous?"

"You're left index finger keeps tapping your water glass, your eyes are wandering, avoiding my face, your breathing is accelerated, & you've barely strung more than two words together in a sentence."

Sometimes being in love with a prat had its downsides.

"Alright. Yes. I'm nervous. But this is…a…date, Sherlock. An actual date. I mean, when was the last time you were on a date?"

He sat contemplatively for a a moment. "You mean real or contrived?"

She rolled her eyes in response.

"Right…real. Well, I suppose," and he looked reflective for a moment. "…yeah. Can't say."

"Exactly. Aren't you the least bit nervous?'

Sherlock looked pointedly at her, with a bit of urgency. "Molly, the only reason I'm not nervous is because I'm here with you," & he leaned back in the chair. "Seafood, I think. Seafood, when one is by the sea…should be fresh enough."

Molly's breath came out slowly between her lips. Compose yourself, Molly. And she smiled, "Yes, it's customary to eat seafood when one holidays at the beach."

The dinner passed along well enough, & they had drank the entire bottle of wine. Sherlock believed that that would do quite well. He didn't want either of them to be fully gone when he confessed anything to her. Their dinners were finished, it was eight thirty, & Sherlock & Molly left the restaurant.

Molly thought that dinner had been rather lovely, all things considered. With both her & Sherlock feeling a bit unsure, they had enjoyed a pleasant dinner with nice conversation. Well, as nice as conversation can be with Sherlock Holmes. But he had been attentive, engaging her impressively, & Molly felt, well, comfortable.

As nervous as Sherlock was at the prospect of confessing anything, he desperately wanted to get it over with. He was truly unsure, for Molly hadn't quite been herself the entire time in Cornwall. Perhaps that was where he should begin.

"Molly, would you like to head back to the B&B?"

She swallowed, "Alright, then." She honestly didn't know if she was more concerned that he'd confess & snog her or if he didn't.

They entered the room. Molly went over to the window to gaze upon the street below, Sherlock closed the door behind him.

He cleared his throat. He fidgeted for a moment, considered obtaining some alcohol, but recalled himself, and thought better of it.

"Molly…"

"Yes?" she answered abruptly, turning.

He took a step or two closer. "As you have no doubt observed, I have been attempting to woo you, for lack of a better term, the entire day. I had researched what I thought might be interesting outings for the two of us to share, attempting to satisfy both of our needs & assessing whether you would find my interests tolerable & if I would find yours…well…interesting. All of this culminated in a…ah…romantic dinner, hoping that conversation would be flowing and that we found one another compatible," he stopped for a tick. "So, Molly," he stepped nearer her, "What are your thoughts?"

"My thoughts? On what?"

On what? Hadn't he just explained? "On…well. What do you think I'm referring to?"

She turned fully toward him. "Well, one of two things. Either you want my opinion on our romantic compatibility or my thoughts on the fact that today was one long experiment, one which I might've failed." She stopped for a second, and then, "Have I failed?"

Sherlock smiled. "No, if you mean regarding my interest."

"Oh."

He moved toward her. "So, what do you think regarding our compatibility?"

"I think…I dunno."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't know! I'm so confused. It's like…one minute everything is so clear and you know things and things are a certain way, and you accept it and then the next the entire word is undone and there's not a bloody thing anyone can do and you're just there, confused and scared."

Sherlock looked at Molly confusedly. "Well…that was certainly unexpected."

"Good. You deserve to be caught off guard. I have been, numerous times, and it's not fair. You kissed me, told me you thought I am attractive, you bring me to Cornwall, do all of these incredibly nice things…"

"And for that, you're angry?"

"Yes! You can't just change the rules - just like that!" Her arms and hands moving about violently indicated many rules had been changed.

He stood there, mouth slightly agape.

"And I was fine! I was fine with you being who you were and me being me. And being friends…just friends. Good friends," her eyes welled a moment. She stifled a sob. "And then…and now…now you've confused it all. YOU! Of all people! I knew what you were doing, Sherlock Holmes! I'm not an idiot! I knew that you were gathering more data so that you could better determine how you felt about me," she noted his change. "That's right, I said "felt!" You always underestimate me! Always! And I was playing into it because it felt so nice…so nice to be getting that kind of attention from you! To be made to feel beautiful! To see the look on your face when I entered the pub! It was like nothing I'd ever known. And NOW what do I do? I know you want me to just melt and say, oh Sherlock, I love you, of course I do. Let's stay here and fuck all night. I know that's how you saw this night ending. But I can't do that! I must respect myself…" and her words died out, recalling that that was the same sentiment Jane Eyre muttered to Rochester. It brought her back from her diatribe, and she looked at the befuddled man standing opposite her.

"I'm…sorry. I've unwittingly offended you, and that was certainly not my intention," his voice lowered a touch, "It seems I'm always offending you, Molly Hooper. Perhaps this is the answer to the problem. Perhaps this is exactly what needed to occur so that I might see things as you see them, and leave well enough alone," and he turned, and left the room.

Molly Hooper stood there, tears streaming down her face. How she hated him at that moment! How she despised him for everything he had ever done! From making her fetch coffee for him, to dragging her out to retrieve corpses, to making her feel jealous, and for making her feel like she counted.

Like she counted, and he trusted her.

Fuck. Molly's hand flew to her mouth. Sherlock had been telling her how he felt for ages now. He apologized to her (he never apologized), he had kissed her cheek on more than one occasion (he doesn't kiss, not that she's seen), he had come to her in his darkest hour, he had asked for her to spend the day with him solving cases, and told her that she mattered the most. The most. He asked her to go his parent's house to meet his brother, he took her to Cornwall, he said she was attractive. He kissed her passionately.

Molly Hooper, you are an idiot. A selfish, silly idiot.

Oh, what was she thinking? Just because he didn't proclaim himself the way other silly men did, didn't mean he wasn't doing just that, all along. Just because he didn't conform to standard romantic ideals, didn't mean he wasn't romantic. In her desperation to protect herself, she missed everything.

She wiped her face and bolted out the door.


	18. Chapter 18

His feet pounded heavy on the pavement. His breath came up quick, his pulse irritatingly raced and thrummed against his temple, threatening a migraine. His mind was as distraught as can be imagined; he never, never would've guessed at that reaction from Molly, and perhaps that was what so incredibly disheartening. He was so preoccupied with his own thoughts and feelings, he felt he could predict her reaction with more than accuracy, with perfection. He was absolutely certain that she would be pleased, and even if that night didn't see them love making, it would of course been tender, and he would enjoy the softness of her embrace. It had been quite some time since he last had intercourse, and he was fearful he'd be overcome if not prepared, and wouldn't last.

Well, that certainly was no longer a concern. She had seen to that. With such unabashed vitriol she had chastised him! As though many years of pent up anger was suddenly unleashed and leveled itself at Sherlock. it was very nearly physical in its intensity. He had not understood the power and severity of her displeasure, and he felt humbled at her reproof. His preoccupation with his own heart caused him to forget the one he sought, his vanity blurred his purpose. He wasn't wooing her as he had proclaimed, he was convincing himself he was correct in his design. And Molly recognized that, he knew that she did. She saw through his thinly veiled motive, and made him suffer for it.

He stopped, finally, at a pier, looking out onto the sea. He had quite forgotten himself, not fully realizing where he was going, where he had been. He breathed the salt air deeply, deliberately, with purpose and intent, to cleanse his mind and to regain the focus he held so dear. He loathed the fact that the resolution was nothing like he had imagined it to be, and he wondered idly if he could bear going back to the B&B and face Molly again.

* * *

Molly was desperate. She had been wandering for what felt like hours. Her feet hurt her, she was tired. She thought about heading back to the room, but thought that Sherlock was likely still walking about angry with her. God, she wished she had that moment back, not that she would've been the thrilled girl she knew he thought she'd be, but she would've altered what she said to him, and would've been a touch more sensitive to his inner turmoil. With a certain sadness, she took off her shoes, looked down one last alley, peeked inside one more pub, and began to head back. No…this was her final night in Cornwall…she should take a walk in the water; cool her aching, blistered feet. And she headed for the beach, the waves slowly lapping the shore, the sand coarse where the water didn't touch. But when she dipped her feet in the velvety softness of the wet sand, she sighed. It felt heavenly, and Molly forgot everything for just a moment.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was walking back in the direction of the room…he thought that he'd simply apologize and go to bed. He would've like to have played his violin, but decided it could wait until tomorrow. He was heading down the street that ran along the beach when he saw her. She was standing stark still, her feet in the water. His heart gave a jump, and his throat tightened. Should he go down to her and apologize now, or should he simply keep moving?

* * *

Tears fell down her face as she recalled her dad and what he would've made of her insensitive behavior. Hot, wet tears blew back from her face as she thought about the possibility of losing her one and only chance at ever being in a relationship with the only man she ever loved completely and utterly. And it was her fault! Molly let out a soft cry.

"I believe that crying on the beach before such a lovely scene as the moon setting on the water must be rule breaking of some sort."

Molly turned and saw the man smiling at her. She gasped.

"I realize that you likely wish to be alone, but I thought I might apologize and save myself the trouble when you return to the room…"

"Apologize?"

"Yes. You saw through me once more, Molly. You were quite right. I underestimated you."

"But…"

"Allow me to continue," he looked for acknowledgment, and then, "I'm sorry that I overlooked your feelings in all this. I suppose I was unnecessarily smug and confident, assuming you were simply waiting for my declaration, and would be thrilled when I gave it. I'll not make that mistake again. I took advantage of your feelings for me, and for that, I'm very sorry."

"Sherlock…"

"But I'm not sorry for my methods. They are what keep me grounded - keep me true to myself, and I can only ever be myself, and that's all I can offer. And…I suppose…I rather hope that…those very things are what attracted you to me at the outset…and I hope that you can forgive me," he finished.

Molly smiled. She took a step forward, grabbed his face, bent him down toward her, and kissed him. Her hands made their way up to his hair, while slowly the kiss deepened. His arms, rigid at first from the shock of it, fell to her hips, and then entwined her waist, then up her back, as his mouth played with her lips and tongue. A soft moan escaped his mouth, and he pulled away. Molly stepped off of her tiptoes and let go of him.

"I was such an idiot, Sherlock. I've been looking for you for what feels like hours. I was…silly and stupid not to see what it was that you were doing. Of course, I understand, and no…I don't want to change a thing about you! That was my mistake. I assumed that your methods and declarations would be similar to others I've heard, but when you're in love with an unorthodox man, expect an unorthodox dating ritual."

His face dropped.

"You're in love with me?"

Molly blushed. "I am."

"But I thought…you had said…"

"Oh, hang what I said! I'm too far gone. No, I wasn't in love with you when we were at your parent's house, but here, in Cornwall, you made me fall in love with you."

"Ah…"

Molly took his hand. "Not to worry. I don't expect a reciprocal declaration. It's a bit much as it is, don't you think?"

Sherlock nodded.

"We should head back…"

"Alright…"

They turned together, Molly entwining her fingers in his.

"Molly…"

"Hmmm?"

"Am I fully forgiven?"

"Yes…am I?"

"Of course. So, does that mean we can…?"

"Have sex?"

He cleared his throat and looked away. "Well…to put it indelicately…"

"Yes. Yes…I think that's exactly what that means."

And they walked, hand in hand, back to the Bed and Breakfast.


	19. Chapter 19

Although Molly's heart was racing at the prospect of finally making love with Sherlock, she carried herself with poise. When they arrived in the room, she dropped his hand and walked over to the window looking down to the street below. Her hand reached up and undid the clip holding her hair atop her head, and it fell like silk cascading down her back. She turned toward him, noting his expression, and approached.

Sherlock had just closed the door behind him and cleared his throat as Molly stood before him. He wasn't certain what to do…his instinct was to grab her and kiss her, but he held back, apprehension winning his mind. So, he let her perform her ministrations, and allowed her to take charge.

Her hands fell to his chest, and unbuttoning his shirt, she began to kiss his neck. His eyes closed with a sharp intake of breath. Molly had him naked in what seemed like seconds, her fingers so dexterous and quick, and before he knew what was happening, he had her on her back, on her bed, kissing her desperately.

Her dress was up over her head and quickly discarded; Molly laughed at the speed in which it was all happening.

He was on top of her, feeling every inch, reveling in the warmth and beauty that was Molly Hooper. It had been so long...years...since he had felt the warmth of another person this way.

"Slow down," she whispered.

"I can't," he replied.

"Try…" and she took his hand from her backside, and placed it on her breast. "Here…shhh…" and she kissed his mouth chastely to curb his raging desire. "There love…it'll be better if we relish it."

He did as he was told, and indeed, it did feel better. Love making, sans desperation, can be just as fulfilling as with.

That's not to say that the next time they had another go (not twenty minutes after they were both spent the first), there wasn't a bit more heat, a bit more desperation and a bit more noise.

* * *

The sunlight flooded the room as a cruel reminder that the holiday was over. Molly looked at the sleeping man next to her, and she sighed heavily. How much she loved him now she honest couldn't say. She knew that she could never do without him, she knew that it mattered but little if he ever stopped caring for her. Though he might break her heart as he once did (not that long ago), she, Molly, would love him always. Their night together was both tender and passionate. It was intense and lovely. It meant so much to her to have had this experience with him here, to be divorced from the goings on in London.

London. Home. They were going home today. Molly rolled onto her back and sighed. She dreaded going back…she only wanted another day…perhaps they could leave tomorrow, and spend the entire day here, in bed.

She got up and went to the loo, brushed her teeth, and reentered to find Sherlock awake and smiling at her.

"Morning," he said.

"It is, yes," Molly returned, crawling into bed next to him.

He wrapped his arm around her and settled his face close to the back of her head. He'd never known such contentedness, and he felt warm and whole. Without his mind racing and his pulse pounding, he felt strangely at ease. Perhaps it was too much like a high, his work. He had always rather known that, but perhaps he ought to rethink what it was physically he derived from being a detective, and think about what he could derive physically from Molly Hooper. And that thought made him smile.

"Do you think we could stay? Just another night?"

He sighed. "I really should get back…things need doing…"

Molly pouted a touch.

"But, you are still off, are you not?" he asked playfully.

"I am, yes."

"Then you should spend the remainder of your time at Baker Street."

She squeezed him tighter. "I think I'll do just that."

They set to work packing up their things, straightening the room, all the while in relative silence. They left the B&B by noon, with the thought of being back in London by dinner time.

* * *

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" He was driving, thinking about the prospect of a few days in the flat with Molly.

"Why did Mycroft send Sherrinford to Switzerland? Couldn't he have remained here, had some medication? It's a shame that he was sent away like that."

"I don't think that England was what Sherrinford thought it would be."

"But he was hardly here! How could he have made a decision like that?" Molly was flummoxed. She hadn't given the matter much thought while in Cornwall, her mind otherwise occupied; but honestly, it was a rather odd business, and Molly felt the need to advocate for the eldest Holmes brother, since no one else did.

"I trust Mycroft. He obviously had his reasons for believing Sherrinford better off in Switzerland."

"I dunno…you know Mycroft better…"

"Obviously," he interrupted.

"Yes. But, it was all very strange. I should think that you, Sherlock, would like to have the opportunity to become more acquainted with your older brother," Molly reflected. "I think…I think that you should contact him."

"Whom do you mean?" and he looked at her sharply at this, nearly running into a tree as he drove.

"Watch it, now. Would you like me to take over?" she smiled at him.

"No…but what do you mean? Contact Sherrinford?"

"That's right."

Sherlock furrowed his brow in a mixture of confusion and jealousy. Why should he feel jealous? Molly hadn't displayed any real feeling toward Sherrinford. Why should she care if he had a relationship with a brother he hardly knew? As it was, his relationship with Mycroft was tedious. Why add to the list of obligations he was already hesitant to possess?

"Molly…I think that you overstate my desire to know my brother. He has many issues that need sorting, and I don't know if his being around me and my life would do either of us any good."

"But you haven't tried! It was very wrong of Mycroft to assume that Sherrinford wouldn't benefit from his family! I know that I miss mine terribly…I think it could help him."

Molly finished and looked at Sherlock, who was paying attention to the road ahead. He was unresponsive. She sighed. "I'm sorry - but that's how I feel about it. You should confront Mycroft and see what he meant by shuffling him off without talking to anyone," she paused. "Or did he?"

"He didn't discuss it with me, no. But I imagine he spoke with our parents. At least…I believe he did."

"You don't know?"

"We all just…trust Mycroft. Implicitly. He always has taken over situations, and they almost always turn out…well."

Molly gaped at Sherlock. "You mean, he tells your parents what to do?"

"That's not the way I'd say it…but, yes."

Molly looked out the window. "Always?"

"As long as I can remember."

"But…how? Why?"

"Because he was brilliant. Is brilliant. Because my parents were always….for all of my mum's wit and my dad's heart…out of their depth. Mycroft never was. He just…knew. And when I was on drugs…he took care of it. My parents never knew the extent of my addiction, because Mycroft saw to it. Saw to everything, really."

Molly didn't know what to say. She suddenly felt badly for Mycroft. Imagine, parenting everyone in your family.

Perhaps in the next few days she would call on him. Talk to him about things, since Sherlock seemed so hesitant to do so. Yes. And she looked at him, smiling…


	20. Chapter 20

Part 3: Mycroft

In the days that followed his trip to his parents', Mycroft made a conscious effort to dismiss any stirrings of guilt. It was relatively easy to do so, for he was a confident man, a brilliant man, a calm man, and a protective man. True, there weren't many specific people who fell under his direct protection. He had the whole of the nation to see to. However, his parents held a very high place in his eyes, but not quite as high as Sherlock's. He had taken it upon himself to mentor his brother, who was, admittedly, quite brilliant in his own right. Unfortunately, Sherlock had gathered a sizable amount of people whom he "cared for" and Mycroft rather felt some responsibility toward them, as they ensured his brother's happiness. There was very little in the world which consumed Mycroft more than his little brother's happiness. He thought that Sherlock was plagued by an insatiable need for people, though he'd be loathe to admit such a weakness. He believed he loved as fiercely as anyone he'd ever known, though that too, he considered beneath his notice. Sherlock denied himself these tendencies, and Mycroft felt that he was to blame. It bothered him deeply that Sherrinford was able to sort it out. It was so out of character for Mycroft to have missed something. But he did. He had missed the fact that the relationships that Sherlock had built with John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and especially Molly, mattered to him. Of course, he had risked his life to spare them, but Mycroft rather thought that bit was part of the game. Of the rush. But no. No...it was more than that. There was genuine feeling there. He loved John Watson. He loved Mrs. Hudson. Even Lestrade, it could be argued, he loved. Love. What a trifle.

But Mycroft checked himself. He loved his brother, did he not? Loved him so much that he risked very nearly everything for him. Worried about him when he didn't hear from him during the week. Worried, indeed, to the point of distraction, when Sherlock was on drugs. Oh! That was dreadful. Mycroft vey nearly lost his situation over his tending to Sherlock...and it was then that he recruited Miss Hooper. He knew that Sherlock had trusted the pathologist. He had mentioned her in passing, which meant she occupied a part of his brain. They hadn't known one another terribly long, but she was the only doctor that he thought Sherlock would trust.

So...Mycroft called her. He never visited, never more than a few calls on occasion to make certain that he was seeing to the addiction. He called her after the Fall. He called her, indeed, when he required someone to help him with Sherlock. Much more than he called John. He knew that Molly was bright. But he knew, too, that she was in love with him. He hadn't realized until Sherrinford made mention of it that Sherlock reciprocated. He had missed it because he never thought that his brother would succumb to such a thing. How mistaken he was! Had he not demonstrated his great capacity for love repeatedly? Had he not taught Mycroft that his life was not fulfilling if he didn't have the people whom he cared for near? He had sacrificed much for them, perhaps more than Mycroft had for Sherlock. But not much, and Mycroft smiled in spite of himself. He wondered when he would see his brother, if Cornwall had proven to be the tonic needed to realize the depth of his attachment to Molly. He thought he would do well to text him, see how things went, see if he could call on him.

* * *

"Damn."

"What is it?"

"Mycroft wants a visit."

"Oh?" Molly was a touch disappointed, she had wanted to visit Mycroft alone, herself. But then, perhaps a visit from him would be a convenient segue to her own design. "Well...he should, then."

They were at breakfast, Sherlock drinking his coffee, getting ready to look at his emails, perhaps text John. What a few days they had enjoyed! They hadn't left the flat, had ordered in food, and had had sex repeatedly, in different positions, in different locations throughout the flat. Sherlock had quite forgotten the high sex gave one, and was nervous he might become addicted to Molly. Not that that would be a bad thing, necessarily...

"No he should not! Tomorrow is your last day here. Do you think I want to spend any of it with...Mycroft?" he sneered.

Molly laughed. "Oh, stop it. You are silly! We have all the time in the world! Just because I return to work on Monday doesn't mean I'll never be back. Besides..." and she got up, and went to him, curling up on his lap. "You could use a reprieve..."

"Nonsense," and he kissed her deeply.

* * *

Mycroft ascended the steps to 221B. He heard some laughter coming from above, which made him smile. In he went, as the door was open.

"Sherlock?"

He emerged from the kitchen, covered in what, at first glance, appeared to be blood. He stopped, realizing his mistake. Marinara sauce.

"Well...I hope I'm not interrupting anything...well. Kinky, for want of a better word."

"Don't be crude Mycroft. I was attempting my hand at sauce from scratch. It over-boiled, and Molly thought she'd have a laugh...and..." he stopped. "Never mind. Have a seat, Mycroft. I'll go change."

"Quite," and he sat in John's chair. The place looked a bit different. More put-together...

"Hi, Mycroft," and Molly emerged from the hall.

He stood. "Hello, Molly. How are you?"

"Great, thanks. You?"

"Well enough. I see you're taking on the daunting task of domesticating my brother."

"Well...I wouldn't say that, necessarily. He wanted to try...I didn't dissuade."

"Indeed," and he smiled. "I take it Cornwall was...enjoyable?" and he sat down, motioning to Molly that she should join him.

She blushed slightly. "Yes. It's a lovely place," and she sat.

"It is, as you say. I trust Sherlock was an...attentive companion?"

"Hmmm...yes...he was. More than usual, I should think," and she laughed.

Mycroft returned suit, and when Sherlock reemerged, he found the pair aligning heartily. Well. Nothing good could come of this.


End file.
